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“None on record.”
“Owns his own business, mechanic, bodywork – much like the idiot Dorrans, in Lonesome, Oklahoma. Bumbo said the truck had been worked on – good work. Mechanic.”
“??‘Bumbo’?” Roarke repeated.
“Jimbo.” Banner shrugged. “I guess it amounts to the same.”
Even as he spoke, Eve went with her gut. She pulled out her ’link, tagged Santiago. “How’s the face?” she asked, studying the black and swollen right eye.
“It’s had worse.”
“Get it seen to, then you and Carmichael are heading to Oklahoma. Lonesome, Oklahoma. Barlow Lee Hanks. I’d like to know who he lent his ’52 American Bobcat to. Get started as soon as you can. I’ll feed you details when you’re en route.”
“We’ll get along like little doggies.”
“Why?”
“You know, little – it’s a cowboy thing. Never mind. We’re wrapping this part up. The asshole keeps good records. We can track the various parts of the truck, and most are local.”
“Turn that over to the locals for now. Oklahoma takes priority. I’ll get back to you.”
She pushed the ’link into her pocket. “Thanks,” she said to the room at large.
“Data’s already on your comps,” Roarke told her. “I’ll have the van narrowed down shortly.”
“Good. Let’s move.”
Banner followed her out the door. “Right in your house. You got all those juicy toys right in your house.”
“We work here, too.”
“You’re telling me? Never seen such fast e-work. Might be we got something solid with this.”
“Feeney will tag the other four, but let’s do a run on Barlow Lee Hanks and see what we get.”
She strode back into her office, gestured to Peabody. “Barlow’s Garage, Lonesome, Oklahoma. Basic data and financials. Make it fast. Banner, tag them up over there, see if you can get this guy on the ’link. If he’s there, he’s sure as hell not here. That’s one. And just get a sense of him. Don’t play cop. Ask him some truck question.”
“A truck question?”
“Five hundred says you’ve got one.”
“I’m not taking that bet.” Banner pulled out his own ’link. “I’ll take this out there.”
With a nod, Eve sat at her desk, started her run on Barlow Hanks.
One marriage, she read – with no offspring. Divorced for a dozen years. One brother, but older than he was, and the unsubs skewed younger. A nephew about the right age, she considered, so she’d do a secondary run there.
“Financials look solid, Dallas,” Peabody said, “on the surface anyway. He’s not rolling in it, but he does okay. Bought the property the place sits on about eight years ago, and he’s making the payments regularly. Four full-time employees, one part-time.”
Eve nodded as she continued her own run. “A couple minor league criminal bumps. A DUI, a bar fight, a pushy-shovy at some rodeo.”
“This isn’t our guy.”
“No, but he may be connected. Better than one-in-five chance it was his truck the Dumbass Dorrans hauled off.”
She started on the nephew. Small-time rancher, sometime bronc rider. What the hell was a “bronc”? She discovered it was some sort of horse, kept going. About the right age, she thought, with a cohab, which tipped him down the scale as she appeared to be clean and shiny on record, with solid employment.
“Could’ve ditched her,” Eve added. “Taken off in his uncle’s truck with his murderous partner.”
